


The Dichotomy of A Name

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "For a second, they are just Kent and Connor. Not hockey players or teammates or professional athletes. Just two people who have seen the darkest parts of each other and stayed anyway."Or: how Whiskey follows his dream of playing professional hockey and finds connections with unexpected people.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson & Connor "Whiskey" Whisk, Kent "Parse" Parson/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82





	The Dichotomy of A Name

**Author's Note:**

> warning for implied homophobia in the form of sports culture and a disapproving parent, swearing, fear of getting outed (but that doesn't actually happen)
> 
> I'm not sure about canon but in this fic Whiskey is biracial: latino (more specifically mexican american) and white
> 
> Without further ado, welcome to rarepair hell

June 2024

The roar of the crowd is deafening. The Las Vegas stadium is packed in the way only a seventh game in the Stanley Cup Championships can fill the seats. Somewhere within the stands, Mariana and Liam Whisk are sitting, fresh off a flight from Tempe. They had argued that they could make the five hour drive to Vegas easily, but Connor had insisted on buying them a plane ticket. Having enough money to pay for a flight at the drop of a hat was something he was still getting used to, even after playing in the NHL for five years, but he wouldn’t skimp on spending money on his parents. He would never have even picked up a hockey stick if it weren’t for his mother taking on extra shifts at the lab to pay for his equipment and his father’s taciturn approval shown by how he would close the convenience shop early some weekends just to see Connor play.

It’s surreal that they could be sitting somewhere near Tango and Foxtrot, or any other number of his old teammates from Samwell. He knows that Tango and Foxtrot are at the game because they had texted pictures of themselves in the stands to the group chat, which was still going strong after all this time. He has lost touch with most of his former classmates, but he knows that Bittle will be here supporting Jack, and anyone else might have also come, seeing as how there are Samwell alumni on each team playing in the most important hockey game of the year. He doesn’t dwell on whether Dex, Nursey, or Chowder—if any of them are attending—are rooting for the Aces or the Falconers. He wouldn’t begrudge them of their support for Jack; they knew him first after all. 

It’s more that the idea of them meeting his parents is unsettling. Besides Tango and Foxtrot, who knew him well enough to get pieces of his past, everyone from Samwell knew Whiskey: intense and always focused on the game. No one called him Connor, and no one thought of him like that. Sometimes it was like they couldn’t see him outside of the context of hockey. To be fair to them, he kept to himself most of the time. He knew that everyone on the team would have been fine with the fact that he was gay, but the idea that so many people would know his secret and could ruin his NHL chances with a careless statement to the wrong person made him feel sick. So he stayed away from them when it wasn’t necessary and wore the identity of Whiskey so often that he sometimes forgot what it was like to be just Connor. 

On the other hand, he would always be Connor to his parents. If his parents started up a conversation with anyone from Samwell, it would be like they were talking about two different people, neither of which were a true representation of who Whiskey was.

The only person who really sees both sides of him and understands how they come together is skating out onto the ice with him. Before it’s time to give the team a final pep talk before the game, Kent stops for a second. He grabs Whiskey’s arm and knocks their helmets together. If this moment is caught on camera, it will only look like two linemates sharing a couple last words before playing one of the most important games in their career. But Kent doesn’t actually say anything. He just looks at Whiskey, his eyes a piercing grey in the lights of the rink. For a second, they are just Kent and Connor. Not hockey players or teammates or professional athletes. Just two people who have seen the darkest parts of each other and stayed anyway. 

Then they join the rest of the Aces, and they’re Parse and Whiskey, who along with Swoops, are the first line who will do whatever it takes to win this game.

January 2017

Chad kisses Whiskey. It’s not a surprise. Whiskey thought Chad had been flirting with him when he hung out at the LAX house, so it makes sense that all those chirps that had felt like more finally culminated into something more substantial at this party. 

They kiss for exactly ten seconds. In the first three, it feels good. It’s an answer to a question he has been asking himself since middle school when he first started noticing guys, even though it took coming to Samwell for him to stop repressing those feelings and start figuring out what they meant.

The next three seconds, he feels sick. He thinks of his mom, lighting candles in their church every Sunday for whatever family member or friend needed help. If she knew what he was doing, she would light every single candle, but it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change him.

From seconds seven to nine, he feels guilty. He thinks of Marissa. Marissa, who had been his friend first, who he is cheating on right now. He realizes that he needs to stop. He needs to stop kissing Chad because it’s unfair to Marissa, but he also needs to stop dating Marissa because it’s unfair to her. He made her waste almost two years in a long distance relationship that he could never fully engage in, even though he wanted it to work so desperately.

In the tenth second he pulls away from Chad and sees Bitty, looking at him in shock. That’s when he panics. 

“I have to go,” he yells at Chad over the music. He pushes past him, ignoring his half formed protests and goes out the back door, in the opposite direction of Bitty. He runs until the noise of the house party fades into the distance. Hundreds of worst case scenarios are running through his head: Bitty telling someone what he saw, that person telling someone else, then scouts for the NHL hearing about it somehow through the grapevine. He knows that he has to deal with Bitty; he needs to make sure he won’t tell anyone.

Right now though, there is only one person he needs to talk to. He finds Marissa’s contact number and hits dial. She picks up after the second ring.

“Hey Connor,” she says warmly. “What’s up?”

“I have to tell you something.” 

She must pick up on the slight tremor in his voice because she immediately sounds more serious. “What’s wrong?”

“I kissed someone. Or I guess someone kissed me. It doesn’t matter though. I’m really sorry.” There is dead silence on the other line. Whiskey almost doesn’t say the next part. It sticks in his throat, but Marissa deserves an explanation. “It made me realize something though. I’m...gay.” More silence. “I’m really sorry. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Finally, he hears her sigh. “Fuck, Whiskey. Of course I’m not going to tell anyone.” She breathes deep. “Have you known this whole time?”

“No.” He hesitates. It feels like he has always known, somewhere deep down, but he didn’t really admit it to himself until that kiss, when he had damning evidence. “I guess I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want it to be true.”

“Fuck.” She says again. “I’m really mad at you right now. Not even about kissing someone. I just can’t believe I was invested in a relationship that wasn’t even real.”

“I’m sorry.” He knows that nothing he can say can undo what’s already been done, but he doesn’t want Marissa to think he was manipulating her. He never meant to intentionally hurt her. “I care about you and I wish it could have been in the way I said it was.”

“Okay, as your girlfriend, or ex girlfriend, I guess, I’m still angry because I feel blindsided. But I’m going to put that aside to tell you as a friend that it’s okay. You know that there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

It’s an unexpected punch to the gut. He wants to believe that, but it’s hard sometimes when he thinks that his parents would disagree. And it’s not like he can be out and proud at Samwell because of hockey. But it helps to be reminded. “Thanks, Marissa.”

It doesn’t change the reality of his situation and it’s probably going to take time for he and Marissa to go back to being friends again without lingering awkwardness. But it’s a relief to be able to tell even just one person.

June 2019

The ice stings as he reaches down to kiss it, Tango and Foxtrot on either side of him. His last time at Faber is making him more nostalgic than he anticipated. College has not been the best four years of his life that people promised him it would be. It always felt like a stepping stone on the way to the NHL. He took classes to get his economics degree that he won’t have to use if he can make it in the majors and he slept with a couple of Chads while he still had the anonymity that he’ll lose once he starts playing with the Aces in the fall. Even hockey had felt transitory: important because it would lead to playing professionally, but not valuable on its own.

Now though, it’s really hitting him that this is the end. Tango is looking for a job somewhere on the East Coast, Foxtrot is going to work tech at a theater in New York, and he is going to visit his parents back in Tempe as well as stop by Tuscon to see Marissa where she just graduated from the University of Arizona before preseason training starts.

As he steps off of the ice for the last time, he silently says goodbye. He is excited for his future, yet some part of him already misses Samwell a little. For a while, it was home.

August 2019

When Whiskey enters the locker room at the Vegas stadium for the first time, his first impression is one of normality. It's got the same look and (unfortunate) smell as the ones he has been in since elementary school, even if all the people inside are strangers.

The second thing he notices is that a lot of the Aces have gravitated, almost subconsciously, around Kent Parson. Whiskey pauses at the entrance of the room to observe him momentarily. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Parson; the stats said that he was one of the best players in the league, while the tabloids liked to speculate that he partied as hard as he worked.

Whiskey tries to squash his slight intimidation at being in the same room and on the same team as someone with such a large mythos surrounding them. He reminds himself that even if he has won two Stanley Cups, Parson is only five years older than him; he is still just a person. 

So instead of having a bit of freakout that would definitely go against the cool, unaffected demeanor he tries to emanate, he tries to see what kind of captain Parson is. The fact that he is having an actual conversation with his teammates immediately differentiates him from Jack, who rarely talked about anything outside of hockey at the rink. But he is a far cry from Bitty either. Bitty was Southern hospitality and friendly small talk that annoyed Whiskey to no end. Parson appears to rely on cutting chirps followed by a smirk that says that even if he thinks his teammates are full of shit, he still has their backs.

He looks up and Whiskey is pinned in place, caught suddenly by the intensity of Parson’s assessing gaze. Luckily, Whiskey doesn’t have too long to wonder what Parson thinks of him because he crosses the room in a few rapid strides and sticks out his hand for Whiskey to shake.

“You must be our newest rookie. Connor, right? Welcome to the Aces.”

Whiskey shakes his hand and says “Thanks. It’s Whiskey.” He is struck by the fact that Parson is a couple of inches shorter than him. Whiskey is by no means short at a respectable 5’11, but hanging around defensemen had forced him to get used to looking up to people.

When it’s clear that Whiskey isn’t going to say anything else, Parson says, loud enough for the whole locker room to hear “Okay, Whiskey. I see you’re a man of few words. That’s a much needed break from all these dumbasses who never learned to shut up.”

“Hey!” A man with floppy brown hair hugs Parson from behind, almost knocking him over. “Don’t say that Parse. I know you love the sound of my voice.”

He rolls his eyes but his expression still looks fond. “I can’t believe you’re undermining my authority in front of our newest member.” He clears his throat. “Alright, let’s get a move on, people. We’re not going to be late on the first day.”

Once they step out onto the ice, Parson is intensely focused. He is a blur on the ice that Whiskey does his best to match. Even just practicing with Parse, Swoops, and the rest of the Aces is exhilarating, but that doesn’t stop him from being completely exhausted when practice finally ends.

February 2020

The feeling at the bar is a bit off from the usual celebratory vibe when they win at home. Whiskey is riding the high from getting both a goal and an assist. He has been playing second line and scoring consistently throughout his first season, so he isn’t disappointed with his playing. It might just seem weird because it’s Valentine’s Day. 

Whiskey is a private person, so being in the closet isn’t the worst thing for him personally. Even if he was straight, he wouldn’t go around talking about his personal life to every person he meets. Still, being closeted in the NHL has been hard. There have been a couple of homophobic insults from other teams on the ice, which he had been expecting but obviously still made him mad. On the odd occasion that something like that gets said in the locker room, Swoops shuts it down really fast, so even though he is aware that a couple of his teammates definitely wouldn’t be happy if they knew they had a gay teammate, he gets the feeling that overall, most of them would have his back.

Still, even though he might come out to someone like Swoops someday, he can’t just pick up someone at the bar like everyone else is. He doesn’t even like Valentine’s Day and he definitely isn’t a romantic. He isn’t looking for a long term relationship, but it is a reminder that he hasn’t gotten laid since Samwell. It’s dismal.

Normally, he would hang out with Scraps, another rookie whose naivete at 18 reminds Whiskey of Tango’s endless questions, but he is chatting up a woman with long black hair in another corner of the bar. 

It’s a smaller crowd of Aces than usual; anyone in a serious relationship had bigger plans than getting drinks after the game with the team. Soon enough, it’s just Parse and Whiskey at the table. It’s surprising to see Parse without Swoops hanging off of him. Parse isn’t the most tactile of the guys, but that doesn’t seem to apply to Swoops. Maybe that’s just because they’ve played together for their whole careers. But tonight, Swoops is having dinner with his wife, McKenzie. So, it’s just him and Parse.

They finish up their drinks in silence. This might be the longest Whiskey has heard Parse go without saying anything, whether a chirp or a few words of encouragement as captain. But far be it of Whiskey to force him into small talk. Whiskey, out of all people, understands the desire to have a break from constantly having to think of something interesting to say.

They exit the bar out a back door that leads out to a deserted patio. Instead of going out into the street to get a taxi or pulling out his phone to Uber, Parse leans against the railing of the patio. He looks out at the bright lights of the Strip, half his face obscured in shadow. 

“Sometimes I think it’s ironic that I came to Vegas,” he says pensively. “I’m just another performer, with smoke and mirrors to hide what’s really underneath.” He looks back at Whiskey and startles a bit, like he’d forgotten who he was with. “Sorry, man. You don’t want to hear that shit. I just drank too much.”

Whiskey doesn’t comment that Parse nursed one beer the whole night. He wonders what Parse had meant. Maybe he was saying that the confident captain and ace player was a mask for who he really is. Whiskey doesn’t think Parse is in the same situation as him, but his words speak to him nonetheless. It reminds him of the dichotomy of Conner and Whiskey; how they feel like two separate people. So he decides to say something that would normally feel too personal to tell another teammate or anyone, really. If it ends badly he can always just use the same out as Parse and say he was drunk, even though he isn’t really.

“No, I get what you mean. There’s the version of me that plays NHL hockey, that everyone calls Whiskey. And that’s a different version from the Whiskey that played college hockey. And then there’s Connor, the version of myself that exists for my parents. But even all together they don’t make the real me. There are secrets that none of my versions can tell.”

Parse looks at him intently, like he is seeing him for the first time. “Damn. Did you kill someone or something?”

Whiskey feels his face burning. He’s about to reaffirm his promise to himself to never share anything about himself to someone else ever again when Parse says “Sorry. Sarcasm is my go to defense mechanism for when shit gets too deep and that was...wow. You should talk more often if you’re going to say stuff like that.”

People don’t usually compliment him on his words; he was always a jock before he was a student. He almost feels uncomfortable, too seen under the praise. “Nah. No one cares what I have to say.” It’s true. He isn’t someone like Nursey, whose every sentence is like poetry. But that’s okay, Whiskey has always thought actions speak louder than words.

Parse quirks his mouth into a half frown. “I care, Whisk. You’re not the only one with secrets. If you don’t share one once in a while you’ll drown in them. I say that from experience.”

Whiskey can’t help smiling a little. No one has called him Whisk before; it feels like an acknowledgement of what he had been saying about having different names and versions of himself, like Parse had really understood. So he decides to take a chance for once. He doesn’t think before speaking. He just says “Okay. I might take you up on that, Parson.”

At the use of his last name, Parson grins at him with a genuine smile, not the smirk he uses on ice. It's his way of showing that he understands the significance Whiskey places on names. They’ve chosen their own names to call each other because they have had that improbable experience of really seeing each other, even just for a moment.

January 2021

“10, 9, 8, 7…” the TV blares. The Aces team and their significant others are all gathered in front of the large glass windows in Kent’s apartment, waiting for the fireworks at midnight. 

As the countdown reaches zero, Whiskey looks over at Kent, who is looking out the window too, but standing slightly apart from the kissing couples. It’s a small mercy that no one is looking at him because even if it’s not totally obvious, Whiskey knows it’s a freudian slip: he looked at Kent because that’s who he wants to kiss. It’s stupid because Whiskey has always carefully compartmentalized; he might find a teammate attractive, but that’s all it ever was. Catching feelings was a sure path to disaster.

Yet, he did it anyway, involuntarily but inevitably. After that conversation in the bar, they started hanging out together without the rest of the team. Kent would send him pictures of his cat, Kit Purrson, until Whiskey came over to see what adorable thing she was doing, then they would watch reruns of 30 Rock. 

Once Kent found out that Whiskey actually knew how to cook, he would show up at Whiskey’s apartment and pester him until he made chorizo, eggs, and potatoes. It was the first thing he learned how to make from his grandmother. She added potatoes because then she only had to use half the package of chorizo. It was one of the ways she stretched money so that Whiskey’s mom and her two brothers had enough growing up. Whiskey didn’t need to add potatoes, but he did it anyway; it was his way of honoring his grandmother, who came to a new country when she was only his age and did whatever it took to survive.

He never really talked about his family to any of his teammates. Most of them were white, and because he took after his dad’s skin color and got his last name too, they assumed he was too. He didn’t correct them because it was the safest course of action, but it made him feel guilty because he was proud of his family. He just sometimes felt disconnected; he couldn’t speak Spanish that well since he only ever did with his grandmother, and she didn’t speak much English. But when words failed, food was the language that connected them. When he sat on a stool as a child and spent hours watching her cook and learning her recipes by heart, he was saying he cared. When she made arroz con leche, his favorite dessert, whenever he came to visit she was saying that she loved him.

When he told all of that to Kent, he put a hand on Whiskey’s shoulder and just left it there for a minute. It was moments like these that Whiskey realized not only that Kent was his best friend in Las Vegas, but that he also felt something more for him. Kent was loud and full of energy around other people, but he was more relaxed, had softer edges around Whiskey. He would still chirp Whiskey but he would frequently cut through the sarcasm and say something genuine to him. Around other people, Kent was always ready with a joke, but he let silences sit when he was with Whiskey, like he was waiting to hear what Whiskey had to say. It made Whiskey tell him more than he shared with anyone.

So maybe it was that, or maybe he started falling when he started calling him Kent instead of Parse in his head, but no matter how it happened, it doesn’t change the fact that Whiskey is now standing here, on New Year’s Eve, looking at someone who isn’t looking back at him.

People cheer as the fireworks start booming outside, and Whiskey silently heads out of the apartment. In the morning, he’ll probably have five texts from Kent with his typical ridiculous use of abbreviations asking why he left and saying that he could have crashed at his place. It won’t hurt that Kent is only ever going to see him as a friend. It’ll be fine. Whiskey will go back to being friends with him tomorrow because his friendship is more important than the inconvenient feelings that Whiskey has. But just for tonight, Whiskey needs a break to be sad about what he isn’t ever going to have.

June 2021

Whiskey is sitting with Kent at Bitty and Jack’s wedding reception. It was obviously great to see Tango and Foxtrot in person again, but it was surprisingly nice to see the rest of the former Samwell men’s hockey team. But after making the rounds with his old friends and acquaintances, Whiskey had circled back to sit with Kent because he looked uncomfortable. It was strange to see him alone and out of his element. Whiskey didn’t like it. Kent should never look so sad and alone.

Kent laughs when he says that last part out loud. “Do you usually get drunk at weddings?”

“Only ones that I felt obligated to go to.”

Kent looks at him in confusion. “Same here. But why didn’t you want to come? Wasn’t Bittle your captain?”

“That doesn’t mean I liked him.” Kent tries to stifle a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, he was friendly and nice, but he was nosy.” Whiskey steels himself to say the next part. This wasn’t the way he was planning to come out to Kent, but he wants to tell him and right now he has liquid courage. “He saw me kissing a guy at a party, and he said he wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I still worry that he’s going to out me somehow. That’s why I couldn’t enjoy this wedding sober.”

Kent stares at him for a few seconds blankly. “Wow. Okay, that’s pretty fucked up.” Whiskey suddenly feels like he is going to throw up, but then he feels immediate relief when Kent says “Just because Jack is out doesn’t meant that every queer NHL player should be out too. Not every team is as accepting as the Falconers. Bittle should know better than that. And it’s not any of his business anyway.” 

Whiskey is surprised by how angry Kent is on his behalf, but he is glad he isn’t having some freakout about how they’ve fallen asleep next to each other on the couch before. “Do you want to leave?” Kent asks.

“Yes, please.” Whiskey gets out of his seat unsteadily. Kent puts an arm lightly behind his back for balance as he walks slowly out of the building. “Hey, why didn’t you want to come to this wedding?”

Kent pulls his phone out. “I’m going to get us an Uber.” They sit down on a bench outside to wait. Whiskey thinks that Kent just isn’t going to answer, but then he sighs deeply. “Jack and I used to date, back in the Q. I don’t care that he’s getting married. I haven’t been in love with him for a long time, but I still feel a bit jealous, I guess, that he gets to come out and get married and get his happily ever after. Don’t get me wrong, I realize that it wasn’t that easy for him. But it was still easier than it would be for me. I don’t even want to come out that much. I just wish it was an option.”

It takes Whiskey a moment to process all of that. Part of him is hoping that this means that he actually has a chance with Kent, but he tells that part to shut up. Just because Kent is gay or bisexual or something doesn’t mean that he likes Whiskey the same way Whiskey likes him. He just needs to focus on being there for Kent as a friend.

“That sucks.” He winces. It’s a terribly inadequate response to what Kent just told him. “I don’t know how to fix that for you, but you have me. If you ever need to talk, I mean.”

Kent’s eyes still look melancholic but he smiles a little. “I do, huh.” He leans his head on Whiskey’s shoulder. “Thanks, Connor.” 

July 2022

A log cabin nestled among towering trees comes into view as Kent and Whiskey drive up the dirt road. They’ve been driving for almost six hours to get to Yosemite, during which Kent sang along to all of Britney Spears’ discography. It was more endearing than it should have been. He even got Whiskey to admit that he liked ABBA, so Whiskey had sang Dancing Queen under his breath when it came on. 

Now they take their suitcases out of the back of the car and unload them onto the two queen beds in the cabin.

“I can’t believe you wanted to come out to the middle of nowhere this year. Maybe you really are getting old,” Whiskey teases. Kent usually throws a big joint party for the 4th of July and his birthday at his apartment, but this year he had asked Whiskey to come to California with him.

“Hey, I’m only turning twenty-nine. I refuse to have a crisis about my age until I hit thirty.”

“Well what am I supposed to think, when you decide that camping is better than partying.”

“First of all, this isn’t camping. And secondly, maybe I just wanted to spend my birthday with you.”

Kent steps into the bathroom before Whiskey can say anything in response. He isn’t sure what he would say. He knows what he wants to ask, but he isn’t 100% sure of what the answer will be. His feelings for Kent never really went away. If anything, they grew.

Nevertheless, he never said anything. Even after he learned that it was even possible for Kent to reciprocate his feelings, he was still scared. He knew Kent wouldn’t stop being friends with him if he told him and he didn’t feel the same, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be awkward. And Whiskey really doesn’t want to mess with their friendship; that will always be the most important thing to him.

But, there are times when he thinks that Kent...well he doesn’t even want to think it because he is probably seeing what he wants to see. But sometimes Kent will say something like that the only person he wants to spend his birthday with is Whiskey. Or he’ll look at Whiskey like there’s no one else in the world.

So, even though it feels more terrifying than the time Kent convinced him to go hang gliding with him, he decides to take a chance. When Kent comes back into the room, Whiskey walks up to him. “I might be about to really fuck things up. So sorry if I read this totally wrong.” 

He leans down a little and Kent puts a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him down the rest of the way. It feels like the culmination of everything that’s been building between them for the past four years.

Kent pulls away minutely. “You didn’t read it wrong. I don’t bring just anyone with me to a cabin in the woods.” He gives his trademark smirk for a second, but then he looks vulnerable. “I can’t do casual with you, though. So if that’s all this is…”

“No. I want everything with you.” He worries that he admitted too much, but then Kent pulls him in again and he isn’t really thinking about anything except that the bed is softer than he expected for a mattress in the middle of the woods.

December 2023

Whiskey and Kent are spending their couple days of Christmas break with Kent’s mom in New York. It’s honestly a relief from last Christmas, when they had stayed with Whiskey’s parents in Tempe because that had involved some uncomfortable questions: is Whiskey totally sure that he’s gay? Are he and Kent really dating? And they’re living together? (It had been yes to all of those.) He could tell his mom didn’t like it. It wasn’t that surprising because she had always been the most religiously devout in their family, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

After dinner, which had been their traditional mix of tamales, ham, and mashed potatoes (his parents’ compromise on what Christmas dinner should be), his dad had pulled him aside and said that he didn’t care who he brought home as long as he was happy. He told Whiskey to give his mom time to get used to the idea. 

He doesn’t know if his mom will ever come around completely, but he knows that she still loves him because she still calls him once a week like she always has. At least even though things aren’t perfect with his family, things are pretty good with his team. Swoops and Scraps and a couple of the other guys know about him and Kent, and they were supportive but didn't make a big deal out of it. It’s so much more than he ever knew he could have. He wishes that he could tell his teenage self that things would get better.

He’s pulled out of his musings by Kent’s mother. “I’m just saying, I’ve always been a fan of spring weddings.”

“Seriously, mom?” Kent whines. Whiskey stifles a laugh. Being around his mother always brings out his childish side. “I told you that we’re staying in the closet for right now. The media might have finally stopped hounding Jack about being bi, but they would have a field day with two teammates dating.”

“But they couldn’t say anything about two teammates who are married.” Kent groans, but his mom just laughs. “I’m just teasing you, sweetie. It’s a serious suggestion, though. You’re the only kid I can walk down the aisle.”

Whiskey looks from Kent to Mrs. Parson, but they both seem relaxed. One late night, Kent had told him about how his dad went overseas with the army and never came back when Kent was only eight. It still hurts sometimes, but both Parsons seem okay talking about walking down the aisle without talking about the elephant in the room.

Later that night when Mrs. Parson has gone to bed, Kent asks him “Do you want to get married?”

Whiskey raises one eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking me in the kitchen?”

“What? No.” Kent elbows him in the side. “I’m asking if you want me to ask you someday. I know we both want to stay in the closet, but we don’t have to make a big announcement or anything.”

“Hmmm.” Whiskey pretends to consider it for a second. It’s funny. In college, he wouldn’t have wanted to be in a relationship that lasted longer than one night, but now he can’t think of anything he’d rather do than spend the rest of his life with Kent. “You can, someday. If I don’t ask first. What gives you a monopoly on asking?”

Kent laughs. “Of course you would make it into a competition. Come on. Let’s go to bed before you propose to me in a kitchen.”

June 2024

Whiskey skates through a gap in the Falconers' defense and Kent hits the puck to where he knows Whiskey will be. Whiskey hits it into the net and the buzzer sounds. Kent slams into him. They’re both grinning so hard that Whiskey is sure anyone could tell they’re in love if they looked hard enough. In this moment, he doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t know if they’re going to win the championship, or how their life is going to be outside of hockey in the future, but it doesn’t matter. Whether it’s Whiskey and Parse or Connor and Kent, he knows they’ll always be there for each other, one step ahead of the other team and the world, ready to pass to the other without even having to look.

**Author's Note:**

> I love getting feedback. Let me know what you thought in the comments!


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